


Ten Things I Grudgingly Tolerate About You

by DHW



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22292926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DHW/pseuds/DHW
Summary: Let’s break it down, shall we?(Now featuring Dr Bashir's answering list - 10 Things I Can't Help But Love About You)
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 57
Kudos: 175





	1. GARAK

**To:** Dr J Bashir  
**From:** E Garak

 **Subject:** Ten Things I Grudgingly Tolerate About You

\---------

**  
10\. Your Career Choice   
**

Let’s begin with perhaps the least egregious of items. It always helps to start things this way, I find, when making lists such as these. It gives one the chance to really savour the irritation as it builds. And really, what is the point of this exercise at all if not that? 

But I digress (and so early on. There may be hope for you, my dear Doctor, but for myself? It looks increasingly unlikely).

It would be somewhat silly of me to complain too much about your career choice when it is what brought you to Terok Nor (or as you insist on referring to it, Deep Space Nine). My life here would have been far lonelier were you absent from it, and almost certainly more boring. If there is one thing I have enjoyed more than the sight of your ~~stunning~~ smug, sanctimonious face across the Replimat table as we argue over the utterly inconsequential, it is the thrill of unashamedly lying to it—opportunities for which you provide me in abundance. 

That said, if you had chosen another employer, then we’d never have met, and as such, I would never have had to make this list in the first place (even in absentia you cause me grief, dear Doctor). 

But really, Julian, Starfleet? The intergalactic equivalent of your Terran Boy Scouts? An organisation as menacing as Kukalaka (though with admittedly more firepower than your nighttime companion), who conquer through that insidious brand of optimism only Starfleet are capable of maintaining. It’s honestly rather sickening. 

(And brings me neatly to my next point.)

** 9\. Your Relentless Optimism **

If I have to hear you tell me one more time about how ‘it’s for the best’ or how ‘things can only get better’, then I swear I’ll deafen myself with your laser scalpel. Or a spoon, depending on our location at the time. 

**8\. Your Music**

The fact that you are seemingly incapable of spending any time whatsoever in silence is one of your (many) irritating qualities. That half the time you choose to break said silence with a blast of something you so laughably call music goes beyond mere irritation and into the deeply infuriating. 

And the worst of it is that Terran music, on the whole, really isn’t too dire. As much as it pains this Cardassian soul to say so, there are several pieces that I find compelling. Beautiful, even. Ralph Vaughn Williams was a delight. As was Grieg, Rachmaninoff, Sant-Saëns and Holst. I even rather liked Gilbert and Sullivan; the patter singing was both impressive and more amusing than I had initially anticipated it would be. And, lest you think me stuck in hopelessly in the 19th century (or earlier), I enjoyed Jimi Hendrix (20th century), Nick Cave (21st century), Cassan (22nd century), and The Tang (23rd century). More besides, but really, we’re not here to talk about my excellent taste. 

So why, when you come from a culture with such a rich and interesting musical history, did your tastes have to lean towards 21st century pop? 

It’s sex-obsessed, purile, and utterly bereft of anything aproaching even some small semblence of musical merit. 

Any song that contains the lyrics ‘ _something kinda ooooh_ ’ as the main refrain ought to have every copy of it fired into the nearest star. That also goes for songs that use ‘oh’, ‘yeah’, and ‘woah’ more often than actual words. Call Me Maybe? If it involves being subjected to that incessantly cheery beat for more than two seconds, then not only will I not call, I will block your number. I Need You Tonight? I need ear plugs tonight, more like. The only thing Toxic about Ms. Spears is her music. And if you think I haven’t noticed that the ‘Power’ song you’re so fond of is little more than a series of thinly veiled references to oral sex set to a frankly ear-splitting bass, then you’re sorely mistaken. 

(Though I admit that ‘ _they say I’m up and coming like I’m fucking in an elevator_ ’ was clever. Even if I did have to look up what an ‘elevator’ was. It does not, however, undermine my point). 

I would honestly take an evening listening to the hideous musical stylings of Vic Fontaine than listen to another second of that drivel you call music. 

** 7\. Your Taste In Literature **

If I ever have to read another Terran ‘classic’ it will be too soon. 

** 6\. Your Taste In Women **

It can be summed up thusly: young, slender, warm-blooded, appalling pretty in that rather boring, humanoid way. Whilst a difference in species doesn’t appear to be a barrier—if anything, it seems to be half the appeal—your taste in women is hardly what one might call adventurous. Two eyes, two arms, two legs, two breasts; not a tentacle, scale or aesthetically-pleasing bony protrusion in sight. And yet you consider yourself a man of the universe. I mean, really?

You could do better.

** 5\. Your Poor Eating Habits **

As much as I enjoy my lunches with you, they always leave me with the same, burning question:

Are you incapable of eating at anything approaching normal human speed? 

I’m aware that you are not in the least bit normal, but there are limits. I often fear to blink whilst you eat save I miss the spectacle in its strange, horrifying entirety. Tell me, did they enhance your appetite whilst they were busy playing cut and stick with your genome? And if so, why not your table manners, too?

The sad thing is, Julian, I enjoy watching you eat. Or, at the very least, I would if you actually took the time to savour what’s on your plate. There is something so compelling about watching another partake in one of life's many pleasures—and given that this particular pleasure is one of the only ones that can be indulged in whilst in public, the fact that you deny me even this is unacceptable. 

** 4\. Your Taste In Men **

If you think I haven’t noticed those longing looks you sneak in Worf’s direction, then you are sorely mistaken. 

You could do better. 

** 3\. Your Dress Sense (Or Lack Thereof) **

If I could burn every single item of clothing you own I would do so without a moment’s hesitation. Your wardrobe not only constitutes a crime against fashion, but also against good taste and my poor, innocent retinas. Taking into consideration your figure, and quite how many would kill for it (myself, reluctantly, included), your utter lack of taste is particularly galling.

Let’s break it down, shall we?

 _Your uniform_ : unflattering, but unavoidable. Yet another black mark against Starfleet’s name. I can only count myself lucky that you opted for the jumpsuit rather than the skant. Whilst I’m sure your legs are as lovely and well-proportioned as the rest of you, the cut would have done you fewer favours than all of your atrocious outfits combined. Quite the achievement. 

_Your casual wear_ : eye-achingly vibrant, badly cut, and made of such atrociously cheap material that I can only assume Federation non-wages have caused some sort of intergalactic financial crisis and rendered all decent, flattering fabric economically unviable to produce (so much for your moneyless utopia). The garments generate so much static that I fear, should you be asked to run anywhere, the resulting explosion would not only be enough to level the station, but also several of the closest planetary systems. 

_That silver suit_ : An abomination of the highest order. Burning is too good for it. 

You can keep the tux. 

** 2\. Your Inability to Pick Up on Subtext **

Or, indeed, text. Sometimes, Julian, I think you’re so dense you have your own gravitational pull. How much more obvious do you need me to be? At this point, I am very seriously debating embroidering my intentions towards you on the front of my tunic. When it comes to you, my dear, subtlety is apparently overrated. 

Honestly, how many times do I have to ask you to dinner before we do something other than just eat?

** 1\. Your ignorance **

Specifically regarding the fact that I might have fallen in love with you. 

Which, on the whole, is probably for the best. 

**[UNSENT]**

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some unknown reason, I find the idea that Julian might have a not-so-secret love of cheesy 21st century pop music utterly hilarious.
> 
> The songs referenced here are (in order):
> 
> Something Kinda Oooh - Girls Aloud  
> Down With The Trumpets - Rizzle Kicks  
> Barbra Streisand - Duck Sauce  
> Call Me Maybe - Carly Rae Jepsen  
> I Need You Tonight - Professor Green  
> Toxic - Britney Spears  
> Power - Little Mix, Stormzy  
> You Need Me, I Don’t Need You - Ed Sheeran


	2. BASHIR

**< << Personal Log___entry 1902 >>> **

**< << Dr J S Bashir >>> **

**< << Stardate 50784 >>>**

**< << Computer, record the following: L.I.S.T.___ 10 THINGS I CAN’T HELP BUT LOVE ABOUT YOU___subject: E. Garak >>> **

** 1. **

I love that you tell me lies. 

It’s an odd one to begin with—or to even love at all—but it’s true. Well, mostly. 

I don’t love the big, dangerous lies you tell me. Obviously. The ones like ‘ _I assure you, I’m in perfect health_ ’, when you’re anything but, or ‘ _I hate you_ ’, when I know full well you don’t. 

I don’t love those kinds of lies at all. In fact, I hate them. They hurt us both in ways I can’t heal, no matter how much I want to. 

But the little lies. The ones you tell me for fun: I love those. They’re a puzzle. Each one has a small kernel of truth to it. Not in the words themselves—they’re mostly bollocks—but in the topics you choose to lie about, and how you pepper them through the conversation. It tells me a lot more about you than I suspect you’d like. 

Which, really, is half the fun. 

** 2. **

I love the faces you make when I subject you to something particularly horrid. My clothing. My opinions. My relentless optimism. My smug, sanctimonious face, grinning, as I win yet another argument. 

It’s a delight. 

My favourite was the one you pulled after my (frankly stunning) rendition of Master of the House. You hated it. I loved it. 

I stand by my argument that Quark’s was not only the most appropriate venue, but indeed the _only_ venue. The fact that Miles and Jadzia joined in was hardly my fault. But, you must admit, we did a fantastic job. Right until the moment Quark kicked us out. Sorry. 

(Worth it.)

**3.**

I love that you’re so mysterious. 

Actually, wait. Scratch that. 

I love the fact that you _think_ you’re mysterious. 

Whilst it was true at the beginning, I’m afraid that boat has long since sailed. You see, I now know an awful lot about you. 

I know for a fact that you’re 110% not, nor have you ever been, any variety of spy, secret agent, or off-the-books employee of an unnamed but distinctly shady government organisation. Just like I know you don’t have a first name. Or any form of history whatsoever pre-2369 (popping into existence at age… well, whatever age you are—I must admit, I haven’t managed to work that one out yet—was very impressive. Quite the magic trick). 

Oh, and that your favourite colour is grey. I know that for a fact, too. 

Impressive, no?

I like to think so. 

Still, I bet you have some secrets left. I can certainly think of a few I’d like to uncover.

(Such as a deep and abiding love for my species’ literature that you choose to deny for inexplicable reasons… No? Well, I can live in hope.)

** 4. **

I love the fact that you hate my culture’s literature as much as I hate yours, yet you still read every book I give you. I’m determined to find something you’ll like. I thought I was on to a winner with Sayers, given how similar her work is to those enigma tales of yours, but no. Lord Peter, as a creation, is apparently ‘ _too accomplished an individual_ ’ to be at all believable.

What rot, Garak. 

You just don’t like having your beliefs—primarily that your species is superior to my own—challenged in any way. I thought this exercise was supposed to be about broadening horizons? If anything, yours seem to be narrowing. 

But I digress. That you still take a book from me each week, knowing full well you’ll hate it, makes me smile. Besides, if you didn’t, then what would we have to talk about?

Which brings me neatly onto my next point. 

** 5. **

I love your voice. 

Have I ever told you what it does to me? 

No? 

Well, perhaps I ought to remedy that in the not too distant future. Safe to say that it does a whole host of things it really shouldn’t. Provokes numerous, distinctly measurable responses, both mental and… physical. 

You could read the dictionary and I’d be enthralled. 

** 6. **

I love your complete and utter inability to admit you’re wrong. It’s honestly rather endearing. I used to find it so frustrating; we’d argue for hours, going round and round in circles until we were both practically blue in the face___

**< << Computer, new note___Title: Bashir 364c_subsection, Garak___Contents:** _Do Cardassians go ‘blue’ when oxygen deprived? Is scale discolouration a sign of asphyxia? If so, does it follow a similar pattern to that seen in Terrans or Trill?_ **End note >>> **

___Where was I? Ah yes, circular arguments. Round and round we’d go. Despite the fact that I clearly held the upper hand on the vast majority of occasions, still you’d insist that you alone had the right of it. It was only later, after I had learned to appreciate the sport to be found in a good argument, that I began to find your pig-headed insistence that my rebuttals were not just wrong, but _offensively_ so, really rather sweet. 

I’m well aware of exactly what a ‘good argument’ means for a Cardassian, Garak. That you continue to argue with me, even when all good sense dictates quitting whilst ahead, is something I love about you. And I mean that. 

** 7. **

I love the way that your face lights up when you catch sight of me across the Replimat. 

You think I haven’t noticed that, do you? 

Well, think again. 

Whilst your poker face is second to none, there are times when that mask of yours slips. Mostly when you think I’m not looking. But you forget, Garak, my eyesight is better than yours. Better than anyone’s, actually. 

It’s the highlight of my day, seeing your face, whatever expression it holds. 

** 8. **

I love watching you eat.

Why do you think I finish my own meals so quickly?

I’ll tell you the answer: it’s so that I can concentrate on watching you.

It’s a touch self-indulgent, I know, but the way you savour even the most pedestrian of dishes is a delight to behold. And that’s before we even get to dessert. 

The expression on your face when confronted with anything remotely chocolate-related is frankly obscene. I hope you know the torment it causes me. There have been times when I have had to resort to thinking of anything but you and the way you lick your spoon (boils, bruises, Biolan ringworm, to name but a few), or otherwise risk being unable to leave the table with anything approaching a sense of dignity. 

(The cut of my uniform is not particularly forgiving in that respect.)

You’re quite right, you know. There is something compelling about watching another partake in one of life’s many pleasures. I can only apologise for denying you the _pleasure_ of watching me. I hadn’t realised the desire was mutual. 

And speaking of mutual desires...

** 9. **

I love that you write me letters you never send. And yes, I have seen them (if you haven’t already worked that out for yourself). 

Really, you’re not as good at covering your tracks as you think you are. If you think I don’t know that you skim transcript data from Starfleet’s com systems, interplanetary messaging service, and personal logs, then you’re more of a fool than you appear. 

Thing is, you’re not the only one busy monitoring certain… databases. 

All those James Bond fantasies of mine haven’t gone to waste, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to note. Here’s a Terran phrase I think you’ll enjoy: better the devil you know. And my knowledge of you, Elim Garak, is starting to become really quite detailed, indeed. Good thing, too, considering my final point.

**10.**

I love that you love me. 

**  
<<< End L.I.S.T. >>>**

**< << Computer, monitor J S Bashir personal log remote access, code: 354642725 >>> **

_ /// 1 ᴜsᴇʀ___ᴅᴛᴇ: ʜ3-901-01000101 01000111___ᴀᴄᴄᴇss 03:06___ʟᴏɢ ᴇɴᴛʀʏ 1902 ///  _

** <<< Computer, erase log___ replace with the following:>>> **

I love you, Garak. 

...

So.

What are you waiting for?

** <<< END >>> **


End file.
